


Score

by emmagrant01



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Drug Use, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hockey, Holster is bisexual, M/M, Ransom is straight except for Holster, Sexual Tension, bros in love, canon-typical alcohol use, offscreen Holster/OFC, sexual favors for goals scored, swawesome santa 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5382737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ransom and Holster like to score goals for each other, and they like to take care of each other. It was probably just a matter of time before those two things became entangled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Score

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coyotesuspect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotesuspect/gifts).



> Written for Coyotesuspect for ‘Swawesome Santa 2015. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you to DrinkingCocoa for her comments on an earlier draft of this fic, and to TheScienceOfObsession for the hockey beta!

Holster is Ransom’s best friend in the universe, no question. They’re even Facebook-married — which started as a joke and sort of stuck — and honestly, Ransom is totally chill with that. He hasn’t got time for a relationship with a girl anyway; he’s got a GPA to maintain and a fuckton of hockey to play, and besides, he’s only 21. He’s got the rest of his life to do everything else. So Ransom hooks up with girls when he has time, jerks off when he doesn’t, and enjoys a blissful codependence with his linemate and platonic life partner. They take care of each other. 

For example: On a Tuesday in November, Ransom stumbles back from his orgo exam in a complete daze. He doesn’t actually remember walking back to the Haus; he just finds himself standing in the kitchen and babbling about aliphatic compunds, or possibly just saying, “Bad bad _bad_.” Bitty gives him one look and sits him down with a cup of coffee and a slice of pie, but Ransom can only stare at them helplessly. He’s completely forgotten how to coffee. 

He says as much, and Bitty’s eyes go wide with alarm. “I’m texting Holster. Just… don’t move.”

Ten minutes later, Holster is there, pulling him to his feet. He doesn’t say a word; he just steers Ransom upstairs and tucks him into bed.

“Sleep.” Holster plants a kiss on his forehead, then walks away and closes the door behind him. 

Holster’s listed as the emergency contact on Ransom’s phone for good reason. 

Ransom sleeps for four solid hours. When he wakes up, it’s dark outside, but things feel mostly back to normal. He makes his way blearily downstairs. Shitty and Holster are sitting on the couch watching something loud and violent on Netflix.

“Better?” Holster looks up at him and smiles.

“Much.” 

Holster scoots over on the couch enough to make a Ransom-sized spot in the middle, and Ransom drops onto the cushion beside him. 

Holster drapes an arm around him, pulling Ransom against his side. “How was the exam?”

“It’s all kind of a blur.” 

“Don’t think about it, bro. Just chill and watch Game of Thrones with us.”

Ransom laughs and lets his head fall back against Holster’s shoulder. “Bro. Did you seriously just ask me to Netflix and chill?” 

He can hear the rumble of Holster’s chuckle in his chest. 

From the other end of the couch, Shitty grins at them. “Do I need to give you two some privacy?”

“Nah,” Holster replies. “Bitty’d kill us if we did it on the couch.”

“Like that would be the worst thing that ever happened on that couch,” Bitty says from behind them. He peers down at Ransom. “You feeling better?”

Ransom feels a wave of affection for all of them. He nods.

*****

“I’m gettin’ you a goal tonight, dude.” 

It’s the last game before the winter break, and it’s not the first time Holster’s said something like that. Nothing’s ever come of it before, but the fierce look on his face tonight makes Ransom pause lacing up his skates.

“Yeah, you do that.” He reaches over to ruffle Holster’s hair, but Holster ducks away.

“I’m serious, bro. You watch.”

Ransom laughs. “All right.”

It happens at the end of the second period. It’s a filthy wrister, and the puck sails right into the back of the net, glove side. Holster turns around and grins at him, arms already open, and Ransom skates forward to crash into him.

“Bro!” is all Ransom can manage before the other guys pile on them. 

Holster is still grinning in the locker room after the game. The guys alternately praise and chirp him, and he’s eating up the attention like a starving kid. Ransom sits back and watches, joining in occasionally, but mostly thinking about how happy Holster looks. He hadn’t realized Holster had been less than optimally happy of late, but right now he’s practically glowing. Ransom’s stomach clenches slightly: Has he not been doing right by his best bro? Holster’s always got his back, and it’s Ransom’s job — nay, his absolute privilege — to make sure Holster is taken care of in return. Well, he’s gonna fucking rectify that. Starting right now.

Most of the guys are heading back to the Haus and their dorms tonight — they’ve got a matinee game tomorrow, so it’s not really a night to party. Holster is riding high on adrenaline, though, and Ransom elbows him on the way out of Faber.

“Let’s go celebrate that goal, bro. My treat.”

Holster’s eyes light up, and Ransom grins: that’s more like it. He slings his arm around Holster’s shoulders and they walk towards one of the dive bars on the edge of campus that the hockey team frequents. It’s Friday night, so the place is packed, and they end up leaning against the bar and drinking their IPAs. 

“It was so fuckin’ sweet,” Holster says, shaking his head. “Like, I knew it was gonna go in, the second it slid off my tape. Just fuckin’ saw it in slow motion and shit.” 

Ransom nods, grinning. It’s the fourth time Holster’s said pretty much those exact words, but he doesn’t mind. It was a gorgeous goal, Holster’s fourth of the season, and Ransom is more than happy to celebrate it. “Swawesome, man.”

Holster runs a hand through his hair and glances around the bar. He’s full of nervous energy, like he’s not going to settle down anytime soon. It’s not even that late, but they have to get up early tomorrow.

Ransom elbows him in the side. “Keep drinking, bro. You look like you need it.”

Holster exhales. “Yeah. I just…” He grins and shrugs, his cheeks slightly pink in the dim light. 

Ransom studies him for a moment, trying to work out what to do. Drinking isn’t calming him down, and the more he talks about the goal, the more he— _oh_. Ransom grins. “Ohhhhh, okay, I get it. You need to get laid tonight.”

Holster turns to look at him. “Seriously, that’s what you’re getting here?”

Ransom takes a long drink of his IPA and scans the bar. “ _Bro._ You scored tonight. So you deserve to, you know, score.” He grins at his own joke.

Holster chuckles and taps his glass against Ransom’s. “If you say so. I’m not feeling up to putting in the effort, though.”

“Dude, I got this. Give me a couple of minutes here.” Ransom steps away from him to peer around the corner. There are some familiar faces around, even a couple of girls he and Holster have hooked up with before. 

Holster swirls his glass and stares into it. “I really need to find a fuckbuddy, man.” 

“What’re you up for tonight? Like, on a scale from hand-job-in-the-bathroom to girl-with-her-own-dungeon?”

Holster sighs. “I don’t have the time or the energy to do the relationship thing, but a friends-with-benefits kind of sitch would be nice, you know?”

Ransom looks at him and considers. “Cuddles are gonna be important, I think. Pillow talk, shit like that.” 

“Just like, somebody cool to get off with every now and then, no strings.”

“Oh, hang on. Is that Natalie Bronson?”

“So, you know, I was thinking—” 

“Wait right here,” Ransom says, and walks across the room to where Natalie is standing with a group of friends. 

One of the other girls nods in Ransom’s direction and Natalie turns around. “Justin. Whassup?”

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

She gives him a calculating look, but then nods. “Yeah, sure.”

They walk a short way from her group of friends.

“So, this is gonna sound weird,” he starts, and her eyebrows rise.

“Oh my god, you are not seriously about to proposition me, are you? Way too much baggage, dude.”

He feels his face heat. “No! It’s not about me; it’s about Holster. You know, Adam.”

“You two finally work your shit out?”

He blinks at her. “What?”

“Never mind. What about him?”

“He scored in the game tonight, right? Sweet goal, clutched the win for us. It’s been a while since he’s hooked up with anyone, so, like… do you know anybody who’d be up for it tonight? Just like, nice, maybe with some cuddling after, whatever. No strings.”

“If it’s so important to you, why don’t you do it?” She smirks at him.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. I’m just trying to look out for him, you know?”

Her eyes narrow. “This is a two-way street, right? He’s not just gonna come and go?”

“Come on, you know how he prides himself on his” —He makes finger quotes.— “ _skills_.”

“One of his most redeeming features, as I recall.” She turns to look at the group of girls standing behind her. “Okay, no promises, but I think Jess might be up for it. She just broke up with her boyfriend and she was kinda hoping to pick up tonight anyway.”

Jess is up for it, it turns out, and she and Holster head out together a few minutes later. Ransom stays behind to buy a drink for Natalie before walking back to the Haus alone.

It’s one in the morning when Holster slips quietly into the room. He tugs off his shirt and tosses it across the room to the hamper. There’s a mouth-shaped bruise just under his collarbone that definitely wasn’t there earlier. 

“Deets,” Ransom says, peering over the edge of the bunk at him. 

“Bro,” Holster replies, grinning at him. “What’s my favorite number?”

Ransom chuckles and holds out a fist, and Holster bumps it. He steps out of his jeans and shucks his boxers before turning to the dresser to dig out a pair of pajama pants. Ransom is way too sleepy to stop himself from watching the flex of muscles in his ass when he bends over to put them on. Holster turns around again and Ransom snuggles into his pillow. He hears Holster settling into the bunk below. 

“Thanks, man,” Holster says, yawning.

“For getting you laid? You’re welcome.”

“Next time you get a point, you’re gonna get your dick sucked.”

Ransom laughs. “That a promise?”

“I’m serious. You get that point and you’ll see.”

“Deal. Go to sleep.”

*****

In their first game in January, Ransom gets an assist in the third period. He’s hanging back near the blue line when Bitty saucers the puck to him from behind the two D-men who haven’t left him alone all night. He’s about to pass it on to Holster when he sees the opening. He winds up and fires the puck without even thinking. It looks like it’s going to go wide, but then suddenly Jack’s in the crease like the magical motherfucker he is, and he angles it off his stick right into the net. The Harvard crowd erupts in groans, and just like that, they’re up by two with four minutes left in the game. 

They all slam Jack into the boards, and Ransom feels Holster’s arm slide around him from behind. 

“What a fucking beaut!” Shitty yells in his ear before he tackles Jack. 

“Sweet,” Holster says, and knocks his helmet against Ransom’s before he skates away.

*****

“Bro,” Holster says with a groan. “I fucking promised you, though.”

Ransom collapses onto the too-hard bed and stretches out. “That was, like, a month ago. I’m not gonna hold you to it.” The hotel is quiet and it’s nearly curfew, and they all have to get up early for team breakfast before getting back on the bus to head up to New Hampshire. 

“Tomorrow night, dude. I’ll make it happen.”

Ransom laughs and turns to look at him. “It’s not that big a deal, man.”

“It’s a big fucking deal! It’s, like, a tradition.”

“Since when?”

Holster flops back onto the other bed. “Since you did it for me. I’m serious, bro. You’re gonna get laid before the weekend is over.”

“You gonna make sure of that personally?” Ransom meant it as a joke, but Holster goes quiet for a moment. 

“I could, you know.”

Ransom turns to look at him, but Holster’s gaze is fixed on the ceiling. “Wait, what?”

“It’s not like I haven’t touched your dick before.” His voice is quiet, almost tentative, and Ransom’s breath catches in his throat. 

It was just the once, during a threesome with a German exchange student who’d wanted them to touch each other. It had been a little weird at first, but then it had been kinda hot. The memory floods his mind now: the way Holster’s hand had shook, the way they’d stared at each other the whole time, eyes wide with the shock of what they were doing. They’d kissed and everything, and it had freaked Ransom out enough that he’d resolved never to talk about it. He wasn’t into dudes, not really, and he hadn’t wanted to fuck up their friendship.

“Whatever, I’ll find somebody,” Holster says softly. He scoots under the covers and turns onto his side, facing away from Ransom.

“All right,” Ransom replies after a long moment. He’s honestly not sure which part of all that he’s replying to.

*****

It’s the beginning of the third period and they’re down by two. Frustration is pouring off the guys on the ice, and Ransom grits his teeth. Jack swears softly beside him, and Ransom shakes his head.

“The frogs are freaking out, man. You gotta say something.”

Jack shakes his head. “What the hell should I say? Calm down and stay in the moment doesn’t seem to sink in.”

“You always have some captainly shit to say, man.”

Jack gives him a surprised look. “I do?”

Coach Hall signals for a line change and Ransom gets to his feet. “We just gotta show ‘em, eh?” He nudges Holster with his elbow.

“Fuckin’ right.” Holster grins at him.

There’s a reason they’re all on the number one lines. Jack and Bitty work off each other like they’re fucking psychic, Shitty can find holes in every play, and Ransom and Holster always know where the other is. Holster barrels in on the UNH right-winger, who immediately angles the puck off the boards right behind Ransom’s position. Ransom gets it and passes it to Shitty, who looks around for a full second before passing it back. 

Ransom hangs onto it and skates to the top of the circle, willing himself to be patient. The UNH D-men are coming right at him, between him and the goal, and the smart thing to do would be to drop the puck back to where he knows Holster is waiting. But instead, he shoots it right through the traffic. He expects it to hit someone and get deflected, but somehow it goes straight through. It almost hits Jack’s skates, but he jumps into the air at the last moment and it sails right under the goalie’s stick. Jack fist pumps and the crowd groans, and time resumes normal speed again.

The sudden roar in Ransom’s ear comes from Holster, and then Shitty joins him, saying, “Beaut of a slapper, man!” Ransom grins so hard it hurts.

That goal changes the tide of the game. A few minutes later, Wicks wraps it around to even the score, and when Jack fires it in top shelf off of a pass from Bitty, UNH seems to give up. The crowd starts leaving with a few minutes to go, and all they have to do is hang on until it’s over. It’s a hell of a win, the kind of game that shows what a fucking good team they really are.

It’s Saturday night and they don’t have to get up early, so everyone piles into two connecting rooms and gets their drink on. Bitty and Lardo have music going on in one of the rooms, and alcohol appears from everywhere, like half the guys on the team stashed a bottle in their duffel for exactly this occasion. Ransom usually considers it his duty as an upperclassman to make beer runs on out-of-town nights, but it looks like they aren’t going to need it.

He sits back on one of the beds, watching everyone celebrate around him. He feels sort of listless, like he wants to do something but isn’t quite sure what. What he ought to do is finish this cup of random vodka mixer, then go back to his room and read that chapter about genome sequencing methods before he gets even further behind.

Holster makes his way across the room and settles against his side. Ransom lifts his arm to pull him in closer, and Holster’s head falls back against Ransom’s shoulder, warm and comfortable.

“You good, bro?”

Ransom takes a sip from his cup and shrugs. Part of him wants to sit here and enjoy this, bask in the glory with his teammates. Another part wants to go back to his room and jerk off, then spend some quality time with his genetics text. 

“What?” Holster sits forward and turns to look at him.

“Nothing.” Ransom drains his cup and leans behind Holster to set it on the nightstand. “Just not feeling this, I guess. I think I’ll turn in.”

“Yeah.” Holsters watches him for a moment and then stands. “I’m gonna hang out a little bit longer.”

Ransom pats him on the shoulder and slips out of the room before anyone can stop him. 

He strips out of his clothes and brushes his teeth, and parks the TV on ESPN before he slides under the sheets. His hand is inside his boxers before he even thinks about it, and yeah — that’s definitely gonna help. 

He goes slowly at first: long, leisurely strokes that build up the tension in his balls, backing off before it can really go anywhere. He doesn’t often have the privacy to take his time like this and he wants to enjoy it. He pauses long enough to dig through his toiletry bag for the little tube of lube he keeps with him, and that makes it even better. He leans back against the pillows, knees falling open, one hand working a steady rhythm, and oh, _yeah_. He’s just getting to the point that he’s breathing hard when he hears the distinctive electronic _whirp_ of the door being unlocked.

He scrambles for the sheet and pulls it up over himself, but from the way Holster freezes in the doorway, it was obvious what he was doing. Ransom groans and slumps down into the bed again.

“Bro, couldn’t you have stayed out ten more minutes?”

Holster closes the door and leans back against it. “Shit, dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Nah, s’fine.” Ransom waves a hand at him — the one not covered with lube — and sighs. His erection is already wilting. “You need to get in the bathroom before I… uh…” He gestures at his groin.

Holster is quiet for a long moment, then crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “So… I, uh… you want me to?”

Ransom looks up at him. “What?”

Holster reaches for the sheet and tugs it back, slowly. Ransom stares up at him in disbelief, not sure if Holster is serious or not. The sheet slides off his groin and Holster’s gaze settles on Ransom’s dick, still half-hard against his thigh.

“I don’t mind.” Holster turns his head to look at him. “I owe you two now, anyway.”

“You don’t owe me anything, man.”

Holster holds his gaze for a moment more, then shifts closer, settling his hip against Ransom’s side. “You can close your eyes and think about a girl. I don’t care.”

“You’re serious?”

“Chyeah.” The corner’s of Holster’s lips turn up in something that’s almost a smirk. “Come on, let me take care of this for you.”

Ransom’s head is swimming now, and not from alcohol. “Is this gonna make things weird, man? Cause that’s the last thing I want.”

“Doesn’t have to.” Holster touches his flattened palm to Ransom’s belly and smooths a circle around his navel. “It’s just a hand job. You jerk off three feet above me all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’d be your hand. That’s…” _Sex_ , is what he wants to say. It’s different, and they both know it. 

“Friends with benefits.” He can hear the smile in Holster’s voice. “Or just a one-time thing. Whatever. You got two points this weekend, and I told you I’d take care of you.” 

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” Holster’s hand dips lower, fingertips sliding into the dark curls at the base of Ransom’s cock. 

A spark of arousal shoots through Ransom’s belly and his stupid, traitorous dick gets completely hard again. Holster makes a soft sound, a hiss of air through his teeth. 

Ransom groans, and his willpower slips completely away. “Fuck, bro, do it or don’t, but don’t tease me.”

Holster’s fingers close around the shaft and Ransom closes his eyes. He couldn’t pretend he was with a girl even if he wanted to: Holster’s hands are fucking huge, bigger than his own. They’re rough too, and that makes all the difference at the moment. He’s never really thought of himself as a guy who likes it rough, but Holster’s a big dude, and the idea that he could just sort of hold Ransom down and take what he wants — _god_.

“Fuck,” Holster says, and Ransom realizes he’s shifting his hips up, almost fucking himself into Holster’s fist. “Here, wait. Sit up.”

Ransom really doesn’t want him to stop, but he sits up anyway. Holster crawls up the bed to settle behind him against the headboard. He pulls Ransom back against his chest. 

“Better angle for me.” Holster takes Ransom’s dick in his hand again and starts stroking. “So… were you using lube or something?”

Ransom points to the nightstand, where he left the tube.

“Sweet.” Holster says, like he’s talking about something completely ordinary and isn’t about to jerk Ransom off, _fuck_. 

He adds lube and oh, _oh_ — Ransom is suddenly closer than he’d expected to be, and he grips Holster’s wrist in warning. He expects Holster to speed up and finish him off, but he doesn’t. He slides a hand down to the base of his dick and squeezes, and Ransom feels the edge of his orgasm grow distant and fuzzy again. He groans in frustration, but then Holster’s hand moves again with slow, steady strokes. He twists his fingers and squeezes lightly at the head before sliding his fist back down again, and that really has no fucking right to feel as good as it does. He imagines Holster is doing what he does to himself in the dark, under his own sheets, breath coming in sharp huffs while Ransom pretends not to hear him.

“Fuck,” Ransom hisses, and within a minute he’s back on the edge again. 

“You wanna come?” Holster asks softly.

He does, but he also doesn’t, because then it will be over and he’s not quite ready for that either. But before he can answer, Holster’s mouth finds his neck, sucking lightly just behind his ear, and his hand speeds up, and Ransom hurtles over the edge. His hips jerk as he pulses over Holster’s hand, groaning through clenched teeth.

Holster moves out from behind him and reaches for a tissue, and Ransom stretches out on his back. He drops one on Ransom’s hip and Ransom takes it, wipes the mess off of his stomach. 

“You all right?” Holster asks after a moment. 

Ransom opens his eyes to see Holster watching him with a carefully guarded expression.

“Better than all right.” He grins, and Holster seems to relax. “Shit, man, that was… yeah.”

“Good.” Holster smiles, then stands and heads to the bathroom. 

By the time he comes back out again, Ransom is sleepy and warm. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to reciprocate or what, but Holster settles in the other bed without another word. 

He half-expects it to be weird the next morning, but it isn’t. It’s totally normal. Holster’s alarm goes off first and he jumps in the shower while Ransom brushes his teeth and shaves. Ransom hands him a towel when they switch places, and then stands under the spray until he feels guilty for wasting water. Holster tosses a towel at him when he pulls the curtain back, then goes back to shaving.

“When’s breakfast?” Holster asks.

“Eight, I think. So we’ve got half an hour. You wanna go get coffee?” He scrubs his legs dry one at a time.

Holster wipes his face with a hand towel, then looks at Ransom in the mirror. “I still owe you one.”

Ransom almost drops the towel. “What?”

Holster turns and gives him a smile that is as dirty as Ransom has ever seen. His gaze slides down Ransom’s chest, down to where his dick is already starting to pay attention to the proceedings.

Ransom holds the towel up in front of his junk as casually as possible. “You really don’t have to—”

Holster takes one step forward and drops to his knees. 

Ransom sucks in air through his teeth. “Shit, bro. Are you fucking with me right now, because—”

Holster reaches for the towel and tugs it out of Ransom’s grasp. He looks up at Ransom, and though his eyes are sparkling, he looks completely earnest. “Lookin’ for some consent here, dude.”

“Consent,” Ransom repeats, incredulous.

“The handie was for the assist. But a goal, man — you get your dick sucked for that.”

“Jesus, Hols.” Ransom reaches down to cup his hand against Holster’s jaw. He can’t say he doesn’t want this. He wishes he could, because that would make it all so much easier, but _fuck_ , the idea of Holster on his knees, his lips wrapped around Ransom’s dick — he’s half-hard already and Holster hasn’t even touched him. 

Holster slides his hands up Ransom’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the hard line of muscle at his groin. “Say yes or no, before this gets too weird.”

Too late for that, really. Ransom takes a ragged breath. It’s not that he’s never thought about it, because honestly, he has. He’s fantasized about fucking almost every person he’s ever met, including his teammates, past and present. He just never thought it would actually happen.

“Rans—”

“Yes,” he says, and it comes out sort of embarrassingly desperate. He wants to say more, to ask Holster if he’s done this before, and what it means, but no additional words actually make their way out of his mouth. 

Holster pushes Ransom’s hips backward until he’s leaning against the wall, tile cool against his back, and then jacks his dick a few times to get it fully hard. He doesn’t tease or draw it out; he just opens his mouth and gets to it, taking his cock in farther than Ransom would have expected before wincing and pulling off again. 

Holster looks up at him, a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I can usually get in more than that. You’re kinda… big.” 

Ransom gapes at him, not sure what to do with the fact that Holster has done this enough to have a basis for comparison. Ten minutes ago, he would have bet money that the handjob was the gayest thing Holster had ever done. But seeing him on his knees like this, lips wet and wrapped around the head of his cock is just. _Fuck_.

Holster does something really wicked with his tongue then, and Ransom’s head falls back against the wall. He looks straight ahead and realizes he can see all of this in the bathroom mirror: his own face staring back at him, Holster’s head bobbing as he sucks his dick, pale hands gripping Ransom’s hips. 

It’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen, and that’s saying a hell of a lot.

He threads his fingers in Holster’s short hair, and Holster doesn’t seem to mind. He cups the back of Holster’s head with his hand and watches his cock disappear into Holster’s mouth over and over, stretching his lips wide, and tries to hang on as long as he can. Holster seems to be going for it, and Ransom is on board with that plan. Holster’s hand slides between his thighs to tug at his balls, and he increases the suction, and Ransom isn’t going to last much longer.

“Hey, hey, I’m—” he manages, and Holster sits back, jacking him with his hand until he comes. It’s good, better than good, and Ransom makes a lot of noise. When he finally opens his eyes again, he can’t stop himself from making a startled sound: Holster’s looking up at him with wide eyes, his chin and throat splattered with spunk. It’s fucking _hot_. “Oh my god, you... Fuck, bro, where did that even come from?”

Holster stares up at him for a moment and then flushes red. He stands and reaches for one of the bleached hotel washcloths, wiping himself off without looking in the mirror. They stare at each other for a moment.

“Shit,” Ransom says. “It’s getting weird, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah. I mean.” Holster closes his eyes and winces. “Dude, like… Okay, I hook up with guys every now and then, which is maybe obvious now, but I don’t know if you knew that.”

“No fuckin’ clue, man.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird, right? I mean, you’re straight and all, and I don’t want you to think I’m, like, always trying to mack on you or whatever. It’s not like that. You’re my best friend and fuck, maybe this was a terrible idea.” He presses his hands over his face.

“Shit.” Ransom takes a deep breath and releases it. “Hey, stop that. No freaking out. I’m serious. Look at me, bro.” He tugs at Holster’s hands, then pulls him into a hug. “We’re cool, all right? I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Surprised,” Holster mumbles against his shoulder.

“Yeah, man. You give damn good head. What the hell?”

Holster laughs and pushes back, shaking his head. “I wasn’t even trying that hard, bro. That was a quick-and-dirty kind of deal.”

“So what do I have to do to get the full treatment?” Ransom meant it as a joke, but the moment the words leave his lips, he sees heat spark in Holster’s eyes. 

“Score me some more goals.” It sounds like a challenge.

Ransom drags his teeth across his bottom lip. “Yeah, okay.”

Holster’s lips quirk into a smile, then he steps past Ransom and out of the bathroom. Ransom stares at his reflection in the mirror for nearly a minute. That was one of the better blow jobs he’s had in a while, and it was with Holster, of all people. He doesn’t know what to do with that, how to begin to process it. Outside of that memorable threesome, he’s never actually hooked up with a dude, and hasn’t really ever thought seriously about doing it. He’s thinking about it now, though.

He’s especially thinking about the fact that Holster’s got him off twice and he hasn’t reciprocated at all. He’s always prided himself on being good to the girls he hooks up with, making sure they get off too. Mutual getting off is basically the whole point of sex with another person, right? Holster hasn’t said anything, though, and he doesn’t quite know what that means. 

Does he want to do that with Holster? He imagines it, and though it’s kind of weird, it’s not like it would be gross or anything. It’s Holster, for one thing, not some random skeevy dude. He’s seen Holster’s dick hard, has seen him bury it in another person. He knows that Holster likes to take his time when he jerks off, and that he makes soft little gasping sounds when he comes. He knows the way Holster’s tongue feels against his own, warm and slick, his face rough at the end of the day. His stomach flips pleasantly at the memory.

So okay, yeah. He could do that again. 

“I’m feeling kind of selfish,” he says on the bus hours later, when everyone around them either has earbuds in or is sleeping off their hangovers.

“Hmmm?” Holster looks up from whatever he’s watching on his iPad and pulls out an earbud. “You say something?”

“I’m being selfish,” Ransom repeats. At Holster’s look of confusion, he adds, “With you, I mean. I didn’t…” He gestures vaguely towards Holster’s lap.

“Oh.” Holster blinks at him. “S’fine. Not a problem.”

“It’s not fine. I mean. That’s not how I usually. Uh.”

Holster pauses the video on his iPad and lowers his voice. “I don’t mind. I know you’re not into dudes.” 

“But.” Ransom sighs, not sure why he’s pushing this when Holster is so conveniently giving him an out. “Bro, seriously. I’m not that closed-minded. Just because I haven’t doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.”

They stare at each other for a moment. “So,” Holster prompts.

“So I was thinking that if you tally some points—”

“The fuck do you mean by _if_?”

Ransom snorts. “Shut up, man. I’m saying I could, I don’t know, return the favor. You know?”

“You already did with Jess and…” Holster’s eyebrows rise. “Oh. You mean. Really?”

“Yeah.” Ransom swallows down a jolt of anxiety. “Fair’s fair, bro.”

“Okay, I… Yeah. That’d be. Uh.” Holster’s cheeks flush.

“All right, then.”

“Right.” Holster looks almost dazed.

Ransom settles back in his seat. “But seriously, bro, if you want me to put out, you gotta get your ass in gear out there.” 

“My ass is always in gear.”

“Prove it. Score me some goals.”

“I will.”

Ransom smiles at him and Holster puts the earbud back in and presses play, like they didn’t just DTR or whatever the fuck that was.

Ransom watches the video over his shoulder for a solid minute before Holster offers him an earbud. 

*****

Ransom keeps expecting things to change between them. Nothing really changes, though, and he isn’t sure if he’s glad about that or not. The fact that Holster got on his knees in a hotel bathroom and sucked him off should make things at least a little different between them, shouldn’t it? Instead, they fall right back into their regular schedule of walking to practice together, eating meals together, finishing each other’s sentences, and constantly chirping each other. It’s almost like it never happened.

“So I was thinking,” Holster says at team breakfast on Wednesday morning, leaning in close enough to whisper.

“Bro, you know that thinking shit is dangerous.”

Holster ignores him. “That softball player in your orgo lecture, Laura.”

“The redhead? What about her?”

“She and I hooked up a few times last spring, and she was really chill. So like, she might be down for something this weekend. Like, if there’s points and all to be—”

“Dude.” Ransom turns to look at him. “That’s not the deal. You know that.”

Holster glances around the table, but no one is paying them any attention. “I know this isn’t your thing, okay? I’m trying to give you an out here.”

“You think I’m gonna wuss out on you, seriously?”

“No! No, just.” Holster looks away, his expression frustrated.

Ransom sighs. His feelings about this are really complicated, he knows, but the idea of someone else rewarding Holster for getting a point in the game is just — no. “It’s cool, bro. I got this.”

Holster turns to look at him again. “Okay.”

“But if you want to ask her out or whatever, I’ll totally put in a good word.”

Holster grins. “Nah, not really. I think I still have her number anyway.”

As the day goes on, Ransom gets increasingly freaked out about the fact that he’s basically committed himself to doing this. In the middle of his orgo lecture, a wave of panic hits him. He has no fucking clue what to do with a dick. Well, that’s not entirely true; he owns one himself and knows how to operate it, but that doesn’t necessarily translate into knowing what might work for someone else’s dick. He’s been on the receiving end of sloppy, dissatisfying blow jobs before, and that is so not the way he wants this to go. 

The obvious solution is to approach this scientifically. With, like, research. This is what the internet is for, right? Ransom smiles and forces his attention back on the lecture. He’s totally got this.

*****

He’s totally fucked. 

*****

“Bits, my man.” Ransom settles at the kitchen table with a large cup of coffee. “You got a minute?”

Bitty is cleaning off the countertop at the moment and whatever he’s got in the oven smells amazing. He turns to smile at Ransom. “Of course! What’s up?”

Ransom waits for him to sit down, then leans over the table and lowers his voice. “I need some advice about sex.”

Bitty blinks approximately eighteen times in the space of two seconds. “You… what?”

“Sex with another dude.” He can spot the moment that the words start to make sense in Bitty’s head.

“Sex with…” Bitty stares at him. “Is this a joke?”

“God, no. Look, I’ve watched some gay porn, and all it did was make me feel inadequate.”

Bitty makes a squeaking sound, his big brown eyes ridiculously wide. 

“Please, bro, I’m in over my head here.” It comes out a lot whinier than he intended, but Bitty’s expression softens almost instantly. “I don’t want to fuck this up, and I don’t know who else to ask.”

“Okay, so.” Bitty takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “I should probably say that I don’t have a heck of a lot of experience in this area.” 

“More than I do, though.”

Bitty makes a strangled sound. “Yeah, okay. I guess I can… try?”

“Dude, thank you, seriously.” Ransom holds out a fist and Bitty stares at it for a moment before bumping it awkwardly. Ransom leans forward, elbows on the table. “So, uh, blow jobs. I mean, I know what I like when I get one, but giving one seems… well, how do you… uh.” 

Bitty looks back at him with an expression of fascinated horror, and all the words Ransom had planned to say disappear like so much smoke. He groans and presses his forehead against the table. 

“Wow. Okay. I’m gonna need some caffeine for this.” Bitty stands and pours himself a cup of coffee, then spends a solid minute adding sugar and cream, long enough that Ransom starts to think he’s stalling. When he sits down again, he has a determined expression on his face. “All right, the big thing is to relax. If you haven’t done it before, it can be kind of weird to have something that big in your mouth. And you should definitely be in charge the first time so you can control how deep and…” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee and seems to have to force himself to meet Ransom’s gaze. “Is this the kind of thing you’re—” 

“Yes.” Ransom exhales in relief. “Please keep talking.”

Bitty takes a deep breath and goes on, talks about keeping teeth out of the way and different ways to use fingers and tongues, and how to keep breathing through it all. By the time he gets to spitting versus swallowing, Ransom realizes he should have been taking notes. 

Bitty sits back and runs a hand through his hair. “So… anything else?”

Ransom picks up his coffee cup. “No, I think that’s good for now. But I might have more questions later. Would that be okay?”

“Um… yeah. Sure.” Bitty looks surprised, and it’s a moment before Ransom realizes he’s just implied this isn’t a one-time thing. 

Bitty looks away and sips his coffee like Kermit minding his own damn business. He doesn’t ask any questions, and Ransom is almost pathetically grateful.

*****

“I’m totally scoring a goal for you tonight,” Holster says. They’re warming up, skating around their side of the ice, and the crowd is starting to file in. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ransom replies. He ignores the way a dozen butterflies seem to take flight in his stomach all at once.

“Then don’t blink.” Holster slings an arm around his neck and grins. 

Early in the second period, Holster actually scores a goal. He one-times it from a distance, and the opposing goalie doesn’t even see it coming. Holster has an armful of Shitty before Ransom can even get to him. Holster looks at him and honest-to-god _blushes_ , and it’s the first time Ransom has actually seen him look anything other than chill the whole night. It makes him feel better, weirdly, and he grins and pulls Holster into a quick hug.

It’s difficult to focus on the game after that, especially with Holster pressed up against him on the bench, closer than strictly necessary. Ransom always knows where he is on the ice, but there’s a strange sort of hyper-awareness now. It’s distracting enough that they turn the puck over twice in the third. Chowder blocks the shots, but they still get dark looks from Jack at the end of each shift. They hang on to the lead and squeak out a win, though, and in Ransom’s mind, it’s all good. He’s got other things to think about.

Like the fact that Holster is apparently perfectly happy playing Mario Kart with Lardo on the couch for a fucking _hour_ that night while Ransom is quietly freaking out. He’s starting to reach coral reef levels of stress before he decides to head out to the back porch for some fresh air. Shitty’s already there, lighting up, and yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what Ransom needs right now. Shitty takes one look at him and passes the joint without a word. It takes the edge right off, and Ransom can finally relax. 

At least until Holster settles next to him and hands him a beer, then leans against him all warm and solid in the cold air.

“That was a fuckin’ sweet shot,” Shitty says as he passes the joint to Holster. 

“Thanks, man.” Holster pinches the joint between his fingers and holds it to his lips.

Shitty grins at him. “You totally deserve to get your dick sucked tonight, bro.”

Ransom nearly chokes on the sip of beer he’d just taken, and Holster coughs up smoke. They both turn to stare at Shitty, who looks back at them like they’ve each grown an extra head. 

“What?” Shitty asks.

Holster laughs and looks away, the tips of his ears red. “You’re right, Shits. I totally deserve it.”

Eventually the joint is finished, and Shitty wanders off to look for Lardo. Ransom and Holster sit next to each other in silence for a few minutes, finishing their beers.

“You do deserve it, you know,” Ransom says at last. “That shot was amazing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you just hammer it in like that. You didn’t even hesitate.”

Holster drains his beer and leans back on his elbows. “I’ve been working on it. Doing some extra training with Coach Murray and a couple of the other guys.”

“When?” Ransom turns to look at him.

“Last few weeks. If I want a real shot at the pros, I need to up my game, man, improve my numbers this year. I’ve been talking to Jack about it.”

Ransom nods. He’d known Holster was thinking along those lines, but he hadn’t realized he was taking steps to actually do something about it. “I can practice with you, if you want. My schedule is a little lighter this semester.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” Holster smiles at him, holding his gaze.

Ransom’s stomach flips pleasantly. “So, about the other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“You still up for it?

Holster gives him an incredulous look. “You think I’d say no, seriously?”

Ransom shrugs, then stands and stretches. “I’m heading up.”

“Okay.” 

Holster doesn’t follow right away, which gives Ransom a chance to brush his teeth and strip down to the boxers he usually sleeps in. He tries not to think too much about what he’s going to do, but the nervousness creeps in all the same. He sits on Holster’s bed and waits, finally getting cold enough that he slides under the covers. By the time Holster opens the door, Ransom’s ready to jump out of his skin.

Holster crosses to sit on the bed and looks down at him. “Hey.”

Ransom smiles and opens up the covers in invitation. Holster stands and strips off his jeans and hoodie, then slides in next to him. They lie on their sides facing each other, but even so, it’s a tight fit. 

“So, like..” Holster bites his lip and takes a breath before continuing. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Nope. You get to pop that cherry.” He smiles, but Holster doesn’t return it.

“Are you sure about this?”

Ransom groans. “Dude, enough. It’s just a blow job. You did it for me, and it wasn’t that big a deal.”

Holster’s eyebrows go up slightly. “Maybe for you. That was the first time I’ve ever let somebody come on my face.”

The tension that had been twisting in Ransom’s chest all week breaks suddenly. “Bro, seriously?”

“Yeah.” Holster shrugs. “And that was the first time I’ve ever done it sober.”

Ransom’s eyebrows go up this time. “Bro—”

“No, not like that.” Holster shifts a little on the mattress, moving closer. “It’s just. I dunno, sometimes it’s easier to let myself relax and enjoy it when I’ve been drinking. If I’m sober, I think too much.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“But that morning in the hotel, I didn’t think at all. I just… wanted to.” Holster frowns, as if he hadn’t meant to say it quite like that.

Ransom reaches his hand across the narrow space between them. He flattens his palm against Holster’s side. “So basically, you took one look at this dick and fell to your knees? That’s like some porn-level shit, right there.”

“Fuck you, man.” Holster’s grinning, though, and he wriggles slightly when Ransom’s hand slides toward his hip.

“Speaking of porn, I watched one this week that reminded me of us.”

Holster laughs. “You watched gay porn, seriously?”

“I had to do some research. Anyway, it was two jocks, checking each other out in the locker room, gettin’ it on in the shower.”

“I have never checked you out in the locker room.”

“Not since our frog year. Don’t think I didn’t see you looking.” Ransom’s fingers dip under the waistband of Holster’s boxers, and Holster’s breath catches. 

“Maybe a little. You know you’re hot, bro.” 

Ransom’s fingertips brush against Holster’s dick, and Holster’s eyes close. Ransom adjusts the position of his hand so that he can wrap his fingers around it. It’s already hard, and he finds that flattering in a way he wouldn’t have expected. Dicks get hard for a lot of weird reasons, but this is different. It’s good to know that Holster is actually into this and not just humoring him.

He suddenly feels confident. “Sit up.” 

Holster’s eyes flutter open again and he moves to sit up on the bed. He props a pillow behind him and leans back against the wall. Ransom slides off the bed, taking the covers with him — he’s gonna get cold otherwise — and tugs at Holster’s boxers. Holster smiles down at him and doesn’t help at all.

Ransom mock glares at him. “Are you trying to make this difficult, bro?”

“Just letting you set the pace, man.” Holster pushes his boxers down and off. His dick is still hard, standing up from his body now, and just right _there_. 

Ransom takes a deep breath and pushes his thighs apart. If Holster were a girl, he’d hook his hands under those thighs and put them over his shoulders, but he’s not sure that would be a good angle here. He feels completely out of his element. 

“Just do what you like.” Holster reaches out and strokes fingertips down the side of Ransom’s face, temple to jaw. “It’s a lot simpler than it is with a girl, really. As long as there’s suction, it’s gonna work.”

So okay, maybe Holster has a point there. He leans forward and takes Holster’s dick in hand, then licks across the head. Holster takes a shaky breath, and Ransom works up his courage and opens his mouth. It’s not bad, actually, though it’s definitely weird to have something that big between his lips. The head is slick, but his lips drag on the warm, dry skin of the shaft when he pushes down. He has to work up some spit to really get it in his mouth. He backs off and goes down again, trying to get it in deeper. The head hits the back of his soft palate, and his breathing is suddenly cut off. 

Shit, he completely sucks at this. 

Holster’s head falls back against the wall and he honest-to-god whines. “Oh my god, you… fuck, Rans.”

It takes less than a minute. In fact, Ransom barely gets in a few good strokes before Holster pushes at his shoulder in warning. Ransom backs off and slides his hand up once, and Holster comes all over his fingers.

Ransom shakes his head in astonishment. “Dude, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Holster’s hands are over his face now.

Ransom can’t help but groan. He’s spent the last week stressing out about this, and now he’s actually sort of disappointed. “That was so not what I expected.”

“I know, but you have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about it and…” Holster drops his hands and smiles sheepishly. “I guess I was pretty wound up. I should have jerked off first or something.”

“Bro, I did research for this. I had a plan and everything.” Ransom tries to look indignant, but Holster laughs. 

“I’m gonna have to score another goal, aren’t I?” 

Ransom sits back. “You’d better. I didn’t put in all that effort for nothing.”

“It was still pretty damn good, you know.”

Ransom pushes to his feet and reaches for a box of tissues. “It must’ve been, if all I had to do was get my mouth on you to make you shoot your load.”

He expects Holster to fire a snappy retort right back, but he doesn’t. He smiles sleepily up at Ransom and says, “Yeah.”

*****

Neither of them gets a point in Saturday night’s game. Ransom isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved. Maybe a little of both. 

They spend the rest of the night at the Haus, drinking and hanging out with the guys just like always. There isn’t anything hanging over Ransom’s head tonight — no sense of anticipation, but no awkwardness either. It’s just comfortable and easy, like it always is, but with a little more intensity than before, or something. He and Holster have always been in each other’s pockets half the time, but tonight it’s hard to be out of touching distance, somehow. Holster’s hand brushes his elbow when he asks Ransom if he needs another beer, and when he returns with it, Ransom presses his shoulder into Holster’s and keeps it there. They hang on each other more than usual, sit practically on top of each other on the couch, and drink out of each other’s beers. By the time Holster talks them all into watching _Ocean’s Eleven_ for the twentieth time, Ransom is snuggled against his side, Holster’s arm slung around his shoulders. One of Ransom’s arms is sprawled across Holster’s lap, elbow pressed into his thigh and fingers idly toying with the thick fabric of Holster’s sweatpants. 

An hour into the movie, Ransom looks over to see Bitty watching them with a guarded expression. Ransom doesn’t think anything of it until he realizes Holster’s hand had dropped down to stop the movement of his fingers a while ago and stayed there. They aren’t really holding hands, but they aren’t _not_ either. Bitty gives him a small smile and looks away, and Ransom instantly feels guilty. Bitty isn’t the only non-straight dude on the team by a long shot, but he’s the only one who’s actually openly gay. He usually avoids participating in the bro-ey displays of affection around the Haus. Ransom had always thought it was just that he wasn’t comfortable with it, but it occurs to him now that he’s kept it all at arm’s length on purpose, in case there really is a line between being bros and… whatever he’s doing with Holster. 

Ransom shifts his hand experimentally and intertwines his fingers with Holster’s. Holster goes with it, even squeezes his hand lightly. 

Yeah, Ransom has no idea what this is, but he likes it.

*****

“Where’s your other half?” Nurse asks on Sunday afternoon. The sun is shining and it’s unseasonably warm, and so they’re out in front throwing a football back and forth. 

“Study group,” Ransom replies. “He has a presentation on Tuesday.” He’s been getting increasingly snarky snaps from Holster as the day goes on, mostly about how douchey the guys in his project group are. 

“It’s too damn nice today to be inside studying.” Nurse throws a neat spiral right to Ransom’s chest. 

Ransom looks over to where Bitty is sitting in a folding chair, staring down at a book through dark sunglasses. “Look alive, Bits!” He waits until Bitty looks up to throw the ball, and Bitty manages to catch it without falling out of his chair.

“I gotta finish reading this, Rans,” he whines. Just then, Jack opens the door and steps out onto the porch, and Bitty takes one look at him and drops his book. He gets to his feet and fires the ball at Nurse with a speed that makes Ransom whistle in admiration. 

“Damn, Bits, you got an arm.” Nurse tosses the ball to Ransom again.

Bitty smiles and shakes his head. “Didn’t do me much good. I was always so terrified of being tackled that I threw it away whenever the defense rushed me.”

Ransom tosses the ball to Bitty. “Nothing to be ashamed of, bro.”

“I was in _peewees_ at the time.”

Nurse snorts. “Bet your dad loved that.” He immediately looks like he regrets the words, but Bitty just laughs. 

“I never got tall enough to be a high school quarterback anyway, so it didn’t matter. Go long.” 

Nurse turns and jogs away, looking over his shoulder, and Bitty fires the ball right into his outstretched hands.

“Nice pass,” Jack says from his seat on the porch steps. Bitty ducks his head and smiles.

They throw the ball around a bit more before Bitty convinces Jack to join in. It soon turns into a two-on-two game: Bitty and Jack against Ransom and Nurse, which turns out to be surprisingly fair. At least, it is until Nurse fake-tackles Bitty and carries him and the football both across the agreed-upon goal line.

“That’s illegal carrying,” Bitty shouts, laughing. “Somebody throw a flag!”

“Looks like I missed the action.” Ransom turns to see Holster standing behind him, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Not too late to join in,” Ransom says, and then runs right at him, tackling him at the waist. Holster drops his bag and goes down easily on the grass, laughing. Ransom pins him to the ground with hands on his wrists, and Holster looks up at him in surprise. There is a sudden, unexpected spark of heat in Ransom’s belly. 

“Get a room, geez.” Nurse’s tone is joking, but Holster’s face flushes. The guys behind them laugh and start throwing the football again.

“Sorry, babe,” Ransom says quietly, and climbs off him. He extends a hand and pulls Holster up. They stare at each other for a long moment. “How’d study group go?”

“Good. Fine.” Holster looks a little dazed.

“Ready for that presentation?” 

“Ready as we’re gonna be. I’ll be glad when it’s over.” 

“Me too, man. You bitch about it constantly.” Ransom punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. Wanna go grab something?”

A couple of the guys chirp them about going on a date when they head out a few minutes later. 

Holster slides an arm around Ransom and grins. “I know how to take care of my man, shit.” 

Ransom grins too, but can’t help thinking that things wouldn’t be that different if they were actually dating. There’d be more sex, probably, but honestly, it’s kind of like they’ve been dating for a while now. Which is… yeah.

*****

Neither of them racks up a single point for weeks. They skate well and backcheck like motherfuckers and hit hard when they need to, and the team wins and wins. Jack plays like he’s already in the NHL and it’s amazing, so really, Ransom can’t complain. 

But yeah, no: he actually can complain, because the tension is starting to get pretty fucking unbearable. 

Ransom spends way more time than he ought to thinking about what he’s going to do when Holster finally gets another point. He thinks about it, does some research, and jerks off like he’s 15 years old again. Which would be embarrassing if he didn’t know Holster was doing the same thing. More than once, he’s wrapped his fingers around himself just because he can hear the soft sounds Holster’s making in the bunk below. He fantasizes about saying something, doing something — but that isn’t their deal. One of them has to get a point on the ice, and then they’ll be able to do something about it.

So instead, they’re constantly all over each other, which simultaneously helps and makes it worse. The other guys on the team have started looking at them a little differently lately, like they’ve noticed something has changed. Ransom doesn’t actually care what they think, but he can’t ignore the way empty seats start to magically appear next to Holster when Ransom walks over at breakfast, or the way the guys smile at them when they’re snuggled together on the couch. Everyone suddenly starts to treat them as if they’re a unit, even expecting them to know each other’s whereabouts at all times (which, to be fair, they do, but whatever). The other guys look away when they talk quietly to each other and, instead of laughing and cheering them on, start to leave them alone when they do so much as look like they’re going to wrestle. But the biggest change is that everyone stops chirping them about being a couple. Which probably means that everyone thinks they actually are a couple and are trying to be cool about it.

*****

They have home games the weekend of Valentine’s Day. It’s almost been a month since the night of the sorta-failed BJ, and Ransom has started to think that maybe he should let this whole thing go. 

On Thursday morning, he gets a text from Holster:

_DUDE. Friday night after the game. You and me and the calendar girls._

Ransom frowns at his phone. _WTF?_

 _March and April? From Epikegster? They said they’d be up to double with us. Dinner at Maximo’s._ This is followed by a string of eggplant emojis.

Ransom’s thumb hovers over the keyboard for a few seconds. He’s been obsessively thinking about blowing Holster all week, and the idea of the two of them going out on a date with girls is honestly kind of jarring. Has he been reading this situation wrong? 

_Nice_ , he texts back at last. He vaguely remembers March and April. He thinks he does, anyway.

Neither of them gets a point on Friday night, but Chowder gets a shutout, so it’s pretty fucking awesome. Shitty plots to get his hands on the poster someone had made about wanting to marry Jack, and they all chirp him mercilessly. Ransom just wants to go home and jerk off and go to sleep, but he can’t. Instead he has to put on nice clothes and go on a date with a girl he barely remembers and doesn’t really want to hook up with. 

March and April are charming and funny, it turns out, and Ransom enjoys it more than he expected to. It’s actually nice to hang out with Holster with other people as a buffer. Everything feels a little less intense this way, and it’s kind of a relief. Still, he finds himself watching Holster and laughing at things Holster says, and not paying as much attention to March as he should, considering. He feels a little guilty, but it’s not like this was his idea. When March and April excuse themselves to the bathroom after dinner, whispering tensely between themselves, he slides down in the booth and sighs.

“What do you think?” Holster asks.

Ransom glances in the direction the girls just went. “They’re nice. Not sure if it’s gonna go anywhere, though.”

Holster rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. I’m not really feeling it either.”

“I’m not on my game tonight anyway, man. How many PK shifts did we do in that last period? Three?”

“Four. I think Dex and Nurse had a bad night.”

“At least one of them got a point.” Ransom’s teeth clench when he realizes what he just said.

“Yeah,” Holster says, and looks away, cheeks tinting slightly. 

“Tomorrow night.” Ransom nudges him under the table with a foot. “If you don’t score me a goal on Valentine’s Day, man, I’m totally breaking up with you.”

Holster looks up and laughs, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Before Ransom can say anything else, March and April return, and they all make small talk for another twenty minutes before calling it a night. They part amicably, but it seems clear none of them are interested in doing this again, and that’s that. Ransom and Holster head back to the Haus in awkward silence. 

*****

The Valentine’s Day game on Saturday night is a strange affair. Samwell Athletics has decided to make an event of this particular game, and so there are all sorts of couple-oriented things going on. The camera that usually pans the crowd and looks for rowdy fans has been repurposed into a Kiss Cam tonight. Jack and Shitty show up on it once, to the delight of the crowd. Shitty claps a hand over Jack’s mouth and fake-kisses him passionately, and everyone roars. Even Jack laughs afterward, cheeks uncharacteristically pink.

Jack gets a goal in each of the first two periods, but the other team ties it early in the third with goals in two consecutive power plays. They fight hard for the next ten minutes, and then Dex gets two minutes for tripping. Ransom and Holster head back out on the penalty kill with Jack and Wicks. It’s been a long period and they’re all exhausted, and with only four minutes left in the game, it’s starting to look like the best they’ll be able to do is take it to overtime. 

Ransom and Holster hang back by Chowder and, between the three of them, manage to deflect everything that gets shot their way. Ransom finally knocks the puck towards Jack, who wheels it down the ice to roars from the crowd. He shoots, but the goalie blocks it, and by the time Holster and Ransom get there, so has everyone else. Jack passes to Ransom when the opposing D-men come at him, and Ransom takes it to the top of the circle. Jack goes around the back of the net, and Holster moves in from the other side. Jack’s got guys all over him, but Holster’s wide open, so Ransom flicks the puck to him. Holster one-times it off the pass and just like that, it goes in — a short-handed goal. 

Holster turns an incredulous face to Ransom, and Ransom slams into him so hard he knocks them both back two meters. Jack and Wicks join them, and the crowd is screaming, and holy shit — they might have just won this. The PK continues, but they have the momentum now. By the time Dex joins them again, there’s just two minutes left in the game. All the have to do is hang on.

It’s one of the sweetest wins Ransom can remember. The whole team piles onto center ice afterward, and they all pound Holster and Ransom on the back. Everyone’s grinning and happy, and Jack beams at them, and it’s amazing. It isn’t until they hit the locker room and Holster grins shyly at him that Ransom realizes they both got a point tonight. 

“Dude,” is all Ransom can manage. His face grows warm, and he laughs and shakes his head.

“I know, right?” is Holster’s reply. He’s blushing like crazy, and it’s ridiculously endearing. 

Most of the guys have V-Day plans that night, so there doesn’t seem to be a party in the works. That actually makes it even more awkward, because the Haus is unusually quiet for a Saturday night. There isn’t really an easy way for Ransom and Holster to disappear together into the attic without it being obvious that something is up. They never turn in early on game nights and are usually the instigators of whatever level of partying is in the works. 

They hang out downstairs for a while, nursing a beer each while the other guys relive the glory of the game. Ransom is sure the tension between him and Holster is actually visible to the naked eye. He can’t even look at Holster without feeling like he’s about to combust, and each time they accidentally brush against each other, they jump apart like they’ve been shocked. Holster’s cheeks are permanently pink, and Ransom’s barely got any fingernails left. 

Jack finally heads up to his room to turn in, to the chagrin of Shitty. Ransom waits one more minute and then can’t take it anymore. He drains his beer, gives Holster a meaningful look, and heads upstairs. 

“You had a fuckin’ two point game, bro,” Shitty says as Ransom tries to slip past him. “We’re morally obligated to celebrate the fuck out of this.” 

“I’m going to sleep, Shits.” Jack says with a put-upon sigh, then gives Ransom a nod. 

“Un-fucking-believable.” Shitty shakes his head. “You two have hot plans tonight?” 

Ransom stops and looks back to see Holster standing at the top of the stairs. His mouth is slightly open like he’d like to answer, but all that comes out is, “Uhhhhh.” 

Ransom stifles a groan: he’d intended for Holster to wait a little longer, so their disappearance wouldn’t be so obvious. Holster shoots him a panicked look, and Shitty looks back and forth between them for a moment. Jack takes the opportunity to disappear into his room. 

Ransom says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Just gonna chill, man. I’m wiped.”

Shitty groans in disgust. “What a bunch of fuckin’ lightweights. Bits!” He shouts down the stairs. ”You’re my only fuckin’ hope, man. Where’s that poster?” He slaps Holster on the shoulder and heads back downstairs.

Holster stares at Ransom, biting his lip. 

The butterflies in Ransom’s stomach try to escape all at once. Holster takes three steps forward, and then they’re both racing up the attic stairs, grinning like idiots. Holster pushes past him and gets to the door first. Ransom shoves him through the moment it opens, and they both land in a heap on the floor just inside. Ransom kicks the door closed with his foot and grins down at Holster, who immediately tries to push him off. They wrestle like that for a solid minute, and Ransom ends up flat on his back with his hands pinned over his head and Holster’s knees on either side of his hips. Holster laughs and shifts against him, and Ransom is suddenly, achingly hard. He arches his hips up, and Holster’s eyes go wide.

“Fuck,” he says, and then he lowers himself down, pressing his chest against Ransom’s. 

Their faces are inches apart now, and Ransom can’t stop staring at Holster’s mouth. They haven’t kissed yet, not since that night more than a year ago with the German girl. Ransom isn’t even sure if kissing is on the table now, but he wants it, so much. 

Something closes off on Holster’s face. He rolls to the side and pushes himself to sitting, then takes a deep breath. “So an assist and a goal. How do you want to do this?”

Ransom watches him for a moment, then climbs to his feet. He extends a hand to Holster and pulls him up, and he doesn’t let go. He pulls Holster closer, slides his arms around his waist. “Like this.”

“Like what?” 

Ransom leans in, presses his lips against Holster’s. Holster freezes, and Ransom thinks he’s going to pull away for a long, terrifying second, but then he sighs against Ransom’s mouth and kisses back. His hands frame Ransom’s face, trembling, and when Ransom opens his mouth, Holster practically melts against him. They kiss for a solid minute, slow and so fucking filthy, open mouths and little darting movements of tongue that promise so much.

“Shit,” Ransom says when they pull apart. 

“Yeah.” Holster presses his forehead against Ransom’s and lets out a shuddering breath. “We can do that some more if you want.”

Ransom tugs at the hem of his t-shirt. “But with less clothes, eh?”

“Chyeah.” 

They pull clothes off as best they can with their mouths locked together. They wind up on Holster’s bunk, Ransom pinned beneath him again, grinding against each other frantically.

“So okay,” Holster says after what seems like hours of really hot making out. “If we don’t switch it up soon, I’m gonna come like this.”

Ransom almost says _fine with me_ , but then remembers he’s supposed to be giving a blow job tonight. “Then let me up.” Holster moves to the side and Ransom nudges him onto his back, then slides down the bed. This ended quickly last time, so he doesn’t fuck around and tease; he opens his mouth and swallows Holster’s dick down.

He’s had time to think about this, is the thing. He’s watched more porn, read some Cosmo articles about giving good head, and even practiced once with a carrot (in the privacy of the bathroom; he’s not stupid). He’s not an expert by any stretch, but he feels more confident than he did the last time. From the way Holster is gasping, he figures he’s doing something right. It’s still weird to think he has a dick in his mouth, but there’s a strange sort of power in the act of doing this for someone. He works to coordinate his breathing and keep the pace steady. His jaw starts to ache and he doesn’t keep his teeth out of the way as much as he’d planned, but Holster’s steady stream of whispered _oh god oh shit oh fuck so good_ s goes right to his own dick. He’s nearly humping the bed by the time Holster pushes at his head in warning.

He pulls off and jacks him, hand slick with his own spit, and Holster’s hips jerk up. He pulls his pillow over his face and groans into it, and shoots his load over Ransom’s fist.

“Oh fuck,” Holster says after a moment, dropping the pillow to the floor. “That was… fuck, man.”

Ransom leans over him to fish a t-shirt off the floor, and wipes his hand off on it. He settles against Holster’s side with a smug grin. “So you’re saying it was good.”

“Fucking amazing. Did you, like, practice on somebody?”

Ransom snorts. “Shit, man. Like I’d want to suck anyone else’s dick but yours.”

Holster smiles and leans in to kiss him. “Good. My turn now.”

Ransom hums and turns onto his back. “Fuck, yeah. I’m all yours.”

“What do you want?”

“The deal was a handjob, right?”

Holster shrugs. “We don’t have to stick to that if you want to do something else.”

“Like what?”

Holster kisses his jaw, trails his lips up to Ransom’s ear. “You could fuck me if you want.”

Ransom’s eyes fly open. He hadn’t even considered that. “Have you… you do that?”

“I have, a couple of times.” 

Ransom exhales, imagining it. _Holy shit_. “Uh… maybe another time? I’m kinda… I’m pretty close, actually.”

Holster’s fingers wrap around his cock and slide up, pulling the foreskin over the head, and Ransom whimpers. “Slow or fast?”

“Hard,” Ransom says, and Holster chuckles in his ear. He jerks in short, fast movements, his hand tight over the head, and in less than a minute, Ransom’s vision starts to white out. Holster kisses him when he comes — to muffle the sounds he’s making, Ransom will realize later — and it’s crazy hot. 

Ransom dissolves into shivers afterward, and Holster pulls the covers up over them both. They curl together, legs intertwined, and even though the bed is ridiculously small, Ransom really doesn’t want to move. He shifts forward until he finds Holster’s lips, and they kiss lazily for a while. It feels good and easy in a way he hadn’t really expected. This is something he wants more of, he thinks. He doesn’t want it to be a hockey thing; he wants it to be its own thing, so they can do it whenever they want. The idea is sort of exhilarating.

Finally, Holster turns to his other side, pressing his back against Ransom’s chest. Ransom falls asleep with his nose in Holster’s hair and an arm slung over his chest.

*****

The next morning, Ransom pulls Holster back into bed the moment he gets back from the bathroom. They grind into each other and come with Holster’s hand wrapped around both their dicks. They grin at each other afterwards, and it sort of seals the deal. 

Ransom expects to be chirped to the next decade when they head downstairs, but no one says anything. No one in the Haus seems to have noticed that there was a fundamental shift in his world last night. He’s like, totally gay for his best friend, and everything is fucking shiny and beautiful and Disney bright. Holster looks happier than Ransom can ever remember seeing him, and Ransom figures they both must be radiating _well-fucked_ vibes all over the place. 

Shitty grunts at them over his coffee, though, and Bitty gives them a cheery greeting from where he’s flipping pancakes. Jack has apparently gone for a run, because he’s a fucking hockey robot that never takes a day off. Holster’s thigh presses against his under the table, and Ransom leans back in his chair and laughs. 

*****

Ransom is flying toward the circle, but there are two defenders in front of him. He changes direction to wheel around them, fakes a pass to Shitty, then neatly drops the puck behind him. Holster was just on his heels, and Ransom knows he’s still there — he doesn’t even have to look. Holster picks it up and slides to the right, then winds up and shoots. It slices through the air and sails in five-hole, right before the goalie drops to the ice. Holster’s fist is in the air a moment later.

Ransom knows Holster’s stats better than his own, and he does a quick calculation: there’s a good chance that goal will put Holster in the top ten scorers among all NCAA defensemen, which is fucking amazing. He wraps an arm around Holster when he reaches him and presses their helmets together. 

“Fucking sweet, bro.”

“Happy Birthday,” Holster says, his face glowing.

“Best birthday present ever,” Ransom replies. Holster’s eyes are sparkling, and Ransom is already looking forward to rewarding him in private later.

Shitty pulls Holster into a hug then and Ransom lets go, lets everyone else have a turn.

“Did he really say he’d get you a goal for your birthday?”

Ransom turns to see Jack standing behind him. “Yep.”

Jack looks thoughtful. “Can he get you two presents?”

Ransom laughs, though he knows Jack is completely serious. “There’s another period left. Crazier shit’s happened, right?”

He’s not really thinking of Jack or the team when he slides in close to Holster and whispers. “Get another one and you can fuck me tonight.”

Holster’s cheeks are pink when Ransom skates backwards. He looks completely shocked for several seconds, then he grins and skates toward Ransom.

“You’re on.”

*****

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> As always, any and all kudos and comments are appreciated! 
> 
> My multifandom mess of a tumblr: [emmagrant01](http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com).


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